Only One Chance (Only One 2)

I was going to surprise Layla with the tree when we got home tonight. I was also going to ask her to spend Christmas with me and meet my family.

“That’s fine,” I say, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Take all the time you need. Close up when you leave,” I say, heading back to my bedroom and slipping out of my suit. My phone falls out of my pocket, and I look down to see Layla staring back at me. I pick up the phone and rub my finger across the screen.

I take one more look at it and then erase it, replacing my screen saver with the team logo. “It’ll be better tomorrow,” I tell myself. “It’ll be all better tomorrow.”

After I slip quietly out of my bedroom, I enter the spare bedroom again. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to my old life. I lie on the bed, and I have this feeling of emptiness all around me. I feel lost. I feel empty. I feel pain. I feel numb. I feel all of it, and I know that all it will take is one look at her, and my world will be full again.

Closing my eyes, I turn on my side and hug her pillow. “One more night,” I say to the darkness. “One more night.” I close my eyes and get lost in all the memories of her.Chapter 33Layla“Merry Christmas,” I say when Grandma Nancy opens the door. She claps her hands, and the bells that she is wearing around her wrist make noise. “Oh my,” I say, seeing the reindeer headband she is wearing. “It’s all Christmas up in here.”

“Come in.” She pulls me in by the wrist. “What are all those presents?” She points at my hand.

“It’s Christmas, silly,” I tell her, going over to her tree and placing them under it. She’s had this tree since I was a little girl. The colored lights always made me feel like it was home. Some of the ornaments hanging are the ones I made in school. “Did you lose more weight?” she asks me after I shrug off my jacket. I look down at my outfit of jeans and a bulky sweater, hoping that it would have hidden the fact that I did lose some more weight.

“I’ve been super busy,” I lie to her. It’s been almost a month since I last saw Miller face-to-face and had my heart broken. I keep hoping that every day will be better, and I have to be the one to admit it’s not getting any easier. In fact, it’s getting harder. Of course, it doesn’t help that he is having the season of his life, and I have to talk about him daily. I watch the games alone, curled up on my couch. I fall asleep to images of him only to wake with my pillow soaked with tears.

“You have to make time for yourself,” she says and just looks at me, and I nod.

“What time is this party?” I ask, changing the subject. Every single year, I join her and her friends. The whole seniors’ home gather in the main dining room with all their families. Everyone brings a dish, so it’s a potluck. Last year, we had over two hundred people, yet we had food for four hundred.

“I’m just putting the finishing touches on the brownies,” she says, walking to the kitchen.

“Grandma,” I tell her.

“Not those types of brownies,” she says. “I don’t share those brownies with anyone.” She winks at me.

I watch her put her homemade chocolate frosting on with red sprinkles. “Now, let’s get to the party.” She points over at the five aluminum platters on the table. “Can you bring those?”

“Sure,” I say and then pick it up. We walk down the hallway and come to the common dining room that is also a game room and where they watch movies. It’s now transformed with tables all along the wall for the food, and then round tables are set up all around with chairs. The middle of the room is left open for the dancing that is surely going to come. I follow Grandma to the table, and she points at the other table, so I walk over and put down the trays. I look around, seeing that the whole place looks so festive.

“Every year, I just get more blown away.” I hear my grandmother say and watch her look around the room. “I have to scope out who is going to be getting a special Christmas present.” She smiles at a couple of the guys who are around her. “Oh, I see a good one under the mistletoe.” I look at the direction she is looking at.

“There is no mistletoe,” I tell her, folding my arms over my chest.

She pulls one out of her pocket. “When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.” She winks at me and walks away. I see her catch the guy who looks like a deer in the headlights, and then she just lays one on him. “Merry Christmas,” she tells him, then comes back over to me. “That should get his motors going.”